Frodo gets Flatulant
by Astariel
Summary: Frodo's bowels get the better of him...changing the fate of Middle Earth and the Fellowship, forever!
1. Frodos Problem

No, I don't own the story or anything contained here, except for the sick sense of humour that provides me with endless excuses to write fanfics... Enjoy.  
  
Frodo Gets Flatulant  
  
"Mr. Frodo, sir, we're wantin' to leave now abouts," Sam called worriedly from a safe distance to the hobbit. Frodo barely croaked out, he'd 'be there shortly' when another spasm of pain surged through his bowels.  
  
It was awful. And it had been this way for some time now, ever since eating those blasted beans on Amun Sul. Forty-eight hours following the usual time frame of normal digestion, and those beans had yet to surface. "Last time I let Gimli cook," moaned Frodo.  
  
But he couldn't hold up the others any longer. From a distance, the hobbit watched his companions, each in the various stages of boredom. The stout dwarf, swinging his axe absently, trimming an inch of Gandalfs beard with each swing. Gandalf, who normally would have fried him, was asleep, his blue hat pulled over his face, oblivious to the anarchy about him.  
  
Merry and Pippin had taken the liberty of extracting a pair of briefs from Boromirs back-pack. They provided a merry chase for the future stewart of Gondor, as they spun his cotton underwear above their heads. They were quite aerodynamic, noted Frodo.  
  
Aragorn, on the other hand, was lying on his stomach, feet vertical and toes pointed, picking lithely at a daisy. "She loves me, she loves me lots, she loves me so much she'll give up her immortality, she loves me..." It really was a pitiful thing to see such a rugged, brave ranger such as Aragorn fall to the baser indignities of love.  
  
Even Legolas was weary of waiting on Frodo. He was lecturing a despondant birch on the joys of lembas and elven males. On second assessment, Frodo wasn't sure if this was actually a sign of boredom, since the elf could so often be found on an intimate level with nature. Sometimes in the most disturbing of ways...  
  
Frodo gave one last grunt before departing the underbrush. Those poor campunelas. Frodo doubted very much they would ever flower again. He'd better not let Legolas discover that.  
  
"Pardon the delay, friends," apologized the hobbit on returning. So after Boromir had retrieved his underpants from the giddy halflings, they continued their trek.  
  
It had been a generous ten minutes perhaps, when events took a devastating turn. The wandering group had been trotting lazily through the forest, subject to the inceaseant ramblings of their resident dwarf, Gimli. As usual, his topic was Moria.  
  
"...in which Morrrria was errrrrected by Durrrin, and so stands it prrresently." Thus ended a two hour tirade on the vast Mines of Moria. "A fascinating study, don't you agrrree?"  
  
"A re-telling at bedtime might aid us all in a more expedient slumber.." murmured Gandalf, still begrudging his freshly trim beard.  
  
"Personally, I think a good spot of romance would up the ratings," added the lovesick Aragorn. "Why, I'd even allow you to name your lovers after darling Evenstar and I..."  
  
"I'm hungry," complained Pippin.  
  
"There is a foul smell on the air," Legolas said in sudden recognition.  
  
"Oh, that's Boromir," yawned Merry, "he forgot his pit-stick this morning."  
  
The future stewart of Gondor reeled on the hobbit, "as I recall, certain Shire personell used it as a volleyball!"  
  
Merry hid behind Gandalf, "you'd not begrudge a hobbit a bit of fun now, would you!"  
  
"No," interupted Legolas, indifferent to the mindless banter about him, "it is not of man. It is a scent of such vile aura, it is unthinkable!"  
  
Gimli was the next to detect the odor, "WhhhOOooaA! What a rrrrant!" he roared.  
  
Like plague, each and every member of the fellowship fell under the abominable scent, each gasping in turn for breath or at least a good gas mask. They were spared however, the tedius guessing game to the origin, when Frodo rent the air with an explosive escape of gas.  
  
"HOLY VALAR!" squealed Merry and Pippin, and took off running in search of some clean air.  
  
"I'm sorry!" gasped Frodo, his cheeks turning red, (and not just the ones on his face, either.)  
  
Aragorn, who had attempted at holding his breath, was now blue. He collapsed in an undignified heap by lack of air. Boromir and Legolas ran to their comrad, but only to nick a few of the scented papers Lady Arwen had expelled her love to the ranger upon. They apparently served as a good freshener, even if they had entertained Aragorns sweaty vest for a few weeks.  
  
Gimli nudged the embarassed Frodo, "ahem, you might want to give those brrreeches a hearrty scrrrape, Frrrodo, lad." Graciously he lent the hobbit his sharpened axe.  
  
Frodo was about to turn an even darker shade of red, when the cries of his hobbits friends arose. "Orcs! Orcs! bloody, there are at least one hundred Orcs!" squealed Pippin.  
  
"Every man to their swords," voiced Aragorn.  
  
"--and his pots and pans!" added Sam.  
  
Frodo felt strangly secure with his mithril coat on, but his hope dwindled upon realizing his last expression of flatulence had deteriorated the back of the armour.  
  
Over the hill, a troop of scowling Orcs charged. They were met with the arrows of archers Aragorn and Legolas, but more came forward. A bloody brawl broke forth, in which Frodo did nothing but uselessly drop his sword and moan over.  
  
"Frodo!" called Sam, after knocking an Orc senseless with his best tefflon pan, "use the--" he was cut short by a Goblin club.  
  
"--the force!" finished Pippin, "use the force!"  
  
"This isn't Star Wars, nitwit," snapped Frodo over the war cries.  
  
"And it's not Sesame Street, either, so either let some of that mustard gas free, or start using that sword!" retorted the hobbit.  
  
"But it was Bilbos! It might get dented! I would feel simply awful should it ever lose it's bluish radiance!"  
  
"Good Vala, Frodo, get off your arse and do some bloody work!" screamed Merry, "these wooden spoons won't hold them off for long!"  
  
Frodo sighed. Why were these big tasks always saddled on him? It wasn't fair. On top of that, he still hadn't purged those god-awful beans from his system.  
  
"Alright, but just this once!" Frodo called over the roaring Orcs. "Plug your noses!"  
  
Bilbos heir then lit one so powerful, that every plant in a twenty mile radius wilted, and everyone was thrown and tossed about the air in acrobatic indecency. A storm on the Great Sea could not have had such effect.  
  
Merry was the first to recover from the toss. "That's a mighty wicked ass you've got on ye, matey!" he called to Frodo, "flew twenty straight miles, I did!"  
  
While they had been spared in an undignified manner, each and every one of the fellowship was glad of it. Not a single Orc was left standing, and the only apparent damage was a nasty dent in Sam's best pan. At least at the time there seemed to be no other damage. "Where has Boromir gotten to?" asked Pippin.  
  
It was a sad truth to find their comrade fallen amongst the Orcs. Too brave to take a hanky to his nose, he had inhaled the deathly air and took the full toll of his mistake. There was no warriors peace settled on his face, but a horrified distortion instead. His eyes had near popped and the mans' mouth had stretched into a petrified grimace. Even Gandalfs magic couldn't have him look respectable for a decent burial.  
  
Being too lazy and inconsidarate to construct a proper grave, the fellowship jammed their departed friend into a hollow log. (It was meant to be a boat, but no one was in the mood) With him, the swords of the fallen Orcs were placed. Unfortunatly, they had underestimated the weight of an Uruk-hai blade, and Boromirs short procession sank halfway across the river.  
  
"We can only hope his father doesn't hear of this act," winced Gandalf.  
  
"HEY! WHAT'S GOING ON!?" Boromir popped out of the log.  
  
"Why, he's not dead Gandalf!" squealed Pippin, "Isn't it wonderful!?"  
  
"HELP ME! HELP ME! I'M GOING OVER THE WATERFALL!"  
  
"Gandalf! Hadn't we better get him?" asked a concerned Aragorn.  
  
"Er..no..it's only rigor mortis, friends, it will pass," said the knowing wizard.  
  
Frodo stared in horror as Boromir fell screaming over the falls. Was that a smirk on Gandalfs face?  
  
"Grrreat Firrres, Gandalf! You killed the poorrr fellerrr!" roared Gimli.  
  
"My dear dwarf, I merely aided him in acheiving a heros end and nothing more. Really, I resent the implication--even if I did rather dispise the man."  
  
"Hadn't we better be going?" asked Sam, "the sooner we discover what a hole those Mines of Moria are, the sooner Gimli will shut up."  
  
"Good point." murmured Gandalf. "Onward!"  
  
And so, the eight remaining members of the fellowship took their march to Moria.  
  
"MoOOooRRRrrIIIiiiaAAaaAa!" squealed Gimli.  
  
"We've reached the mines, I gather," moaned Legolas.  
  
"Ooooh! Look Merry! An ominous pit of black water! shall we toss rocks into it?" exclaimed Pippin.  
  
"Most certainly!" replied the hobbit.  
  
Gandalf crossed the rocks to come to face a moonlit wall. It read in Elvish tongue; Speak Friend and Enter. After boasting how simple it would be to gain entry to the Mines, Gandalf found himself battering his staff hopelessly against the door, cursing in every language he knew.  
  
"Do you admit defeat, sir?" wheedled Frodo. "Why, it would only take a little muscle contraction on my part to get us through." By now, Frodo had become almost cocky with his new found strength.  
  
"Good Vala, Frodo, it is not a difficult thing to do properly. Cease your banter."  
  
"Alright, but I might want to warn you that there is a huge ancestor of Gimlis surfacing out of the water and I think he wants to eat me."  
  
"You say it like it's a bad thing, melaninn.."  
  
And the door cracked open! 


	2. Journey to Moria

Legolas's laughter first annouced Gimli's dire distress. The Mines were nothing but a tomb! Dead dwarves littered the floor, arrows protruding from distorted faces. Legolas fell onto a dead Orc in gales of laughter, after all Gimli's bragging, Moria had turned out to be a death pit!  
  
"Cedrrric!" wailed Gimli in recognition of a corpse, "and poorrr Memtarrr! Uncle Ben! And, and, omigosh! the girrrl I've had a crrrush on forrr forrrty yearrs! She doesn't look nearrrly as prrretty now..." the dwarf collapsed into fits of wailing.  
  
"His girl had a beard?" whispered Merry.  
  
"Shut thy mouth, Gimli, or you'll deprive Pippin from alerting the Orcs," snapped Gandalf.  
  
Frodo let loose a little steam, deteriorating Durins entrance..and the foul beast that lurked in the water. "I say dear boy, you're aim gets better all the time," commented Aragorn.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
When Gimli refused to shut up, Aragorn clunked him over the head with a beer bottle. A nice hour of silence followed, but the dwarf chose a strategic time to revive: at the entrance of Balin's tomb.  
  
"NOOOOOO, BALLLIIINNNN!"  
  
Aragorn made use of the beer bottle again.  
  
Gollum then decided to make his appearance, skulking around the dusty mines. "Hey! Look, it's Gollum!" said Frodo, "ten points to the dude who hits him!" Bones, rocks and milk cartons flew towards the mishapen creature, each connecting with their target.  
  
"Frodo!" scolded Gandalf, "don't do that!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Uh...because my heart tells me Gollum will stick around to gnaw off your finger later...."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Many that deserve fingers don't have them, and many that don't, do have fingers--can you give them fingers Frodo?"  
  
"Well, yeah I've got a good finger for you and Gollum right now," said Frodo, and stuck his middle fingers up in the air.  
  
"Hey, lookit all these dead guys!" commented Pippin.  
  
"Yes," said Gandalf, "now see that one balanced precariously over the edge of that well? Why don't you tweak his hand and send him hurtling down to awaken the Orcs!"  
  
"Golly, Mithrandir! You sure have some good ideas!"  
  
"Not really, I just want to collect my cheque and get out of this movie a little faster."  
  
Gimli stirred. "Balliinnnn!" he whimpered, and began to beat his head against the tomb.  
  
"Easy there, Gim, you're chipping the casket.."  
  
"WAAAAHHHH! BALLLIINNNN!" cried the dwarf and hit the tomb harder.  
  
The distraught dwarf slammed his head against his relatives casket so hard, it shattered to peices, and the crumpled remains of Balin tumbled out before the fellowship.  
  
"Eeeww..." said Legolas, "don't you dare get any dead dwarf flesh on my spandex.."  
  
Gandalf, being the nosey, interfereing bastard he is, poked through the dusty books of the fallen dwarves.  
  
"Ohh! Look, a diary! What juicy secrets does your cousin hide here, I wonder?" "..hmmm...last night was wonderful, my cousin Gimli came to visit, after a good dozen pints of ale we proceeded to the bedroom...GOOD VALA!"  
  
Gimli blushed.  
  
Aragorn shuddered, "that was disturbing."  
  
"Well, the last entry looks interesting;  
  
Oh the noise, those bloody Orcs are just awful as room mates. Every night they have a party with that god-awful music, drums and more drums. The Goblin band down there calls themselves the "Drums in the Deep". Cedric went down to ask them if they could be a little quieter, he hasn't come up yet. I cannot find my migrane pills. I think I'll have a chat with those Orcs now before things get worse..  
  
I guess that explains that," said Gandalf.  
  
A noisy clatter verified that Pippin had indeed sent a body flying down the well. The old armour clanked off the well walls and dragged a water bucket with it. The noisy procession ended with a resounding thud some many feet below.  
  
"Fool of a Took!" squealed Gandalf.  
  
"But it was your idea.." protested the hobbit.  
  
"He's got Alzheimers, Pip," murmered Merry.  
  
"Damn you hobbit!" roared Gandalf, "now that stupid band will start playing again!"  
  
"Maybe they arn't as bad as Balin thought," offered Sam.  
  
"Can we dance to it?" asked Aragorn.  
  
Boom. Boom. Boom.  
  
"Hey, the 'Drums in the Deep'! Nice beat," said Merry.  
  
Soon the fellowship was booty-shaking to the slow, robotic tom of the drum. Their movement increased as the monotone beat sped up to a hip-breaking dance.  
  
BooMBOoMBOOMboomBoomBOoM!  
  
"Agh, I'm too old for this," groaned Gandalf while his back made strange creaking sounds.  
  
"Shouldn't we fight now?" asked Legolas.  
  
"Um, oh yeah," said Aragorn, and stopped the cancun line he'd begun with Gimli and Sam.  
  
A crowd of monstrous Orcs barrelled past the doors, and with them came a cave troll. They stopped a moment for a short jig and then resumed fighting.  
  
"Frodo, I've got an appointment with the Balrog at half past five, and by then you have to suffer a life jarring stab, can you quicken the pace?" called the wizard over the battle cries and drums.  
  
"Sure thing," chirped Frodo. Then he danced over to the cave troll, "lets play, Mr. Troll! I catch you, and you leave us alone, you catch me, and you can puncture my impenetratable coat with you're shish kabob skewer!"  
  
"Duhhhh...?" moaned the troll.  
  
Frodo ran around a pillar, the cave troll following close behind, swinging his prehistoric club.  
  
"All around the Pillar of Rock, the troll chased the hobbit....  
  
The hobbit thought it was all just a joke,  
  
Then, STAB goes the trollllll....." sang Frodo.  
  
The troll sent a stave through Frodo's side, before crashing face first into a wall and knocking himself out. Sam came running to Frodo's aid, "are you alright Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo!"  
  
"No you Dumbarse, I was just skewered by a thousand pound cave troll..." murmured the Ringbearer.  
  
The fellowship crowded around the hobbit. Why wasn't he getting up? Did it have something to do with that huge spear protruding out of his back?  
  
Frodo lept to his feet, and the spear clammoured to the dirt. "Nope, I'm fine, I'm fine. Thanks to this handy-dandy little coat of mine. You too can own your own personal mithril jacket for 24.95 from Walmart; buy one, get two free, and fifty cents off Mabelline nailpolish.."  
  
"Do you have the nailpolish here?" squealed Legolas.  
  
"Do these fingers look as if they've even seen soap?" asked Frodo.  
  
The nine travellers continued their escape, where they were soon surrounded by a wide perimeter of Orcs. Frodo gave a sour fart, and the problem vanished.  
  
FFFFFTTTHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPTTTTHHHHHH.  
  
"WHOA," exclaimed Aragorn. "What was that?"  
  
"That was even worse than me," grumbled a jealous Frodo.  
  
"I'm soooo going to need to buy some new cologne.." whined Legolas.  
  
Gandalf lowered his head. Everyone stared at him for a few hours, stalling, when they could have been escaping. Suddenly the wizard spoke. "It's a Balrog, friends," he said rather calmly. "Now, I want you to.....RUNNNN!"  
  
So off they ran, with suprising ease over impossibly thin bridges with a billion foot drops below them. Their speed however, was not sufficient in outrunning the Balrog.  
  
"Stand back!" declared Gandalf, forcefully. "Cower helplessly while I do my big hero act...ohh..WHOOOPS!" Gandalf slipped on the bridge and fell to the depths below.  
  
"Gandalf, you bastard!" yelled the Balrog, and dived after him.  
  
"GANDALLLFFFF!" screamed Frodo, "YOU STILL OWE ME FIFTY CENTS FROM THAT BET WE MADE LAST WEEK!"  
  
"I'LL PAY IT WHEN I RETURN IN ALL GLORY AND SPLENDOR IN THE TWO TOWERS!" came Gandalf's distant reply.  
  
Satisfied with this response, Frodo returned with the fellowship and sauntered leisurly outside.  
  
*Sad music plays*  
  
"Hmmm, perhaps we should be mourning Gandalfs death, otherwise, all those non-Tolkienites will suspect he's still alive?" suggested Aragorn.  
  
Sam passed around some raw onions and everyone had a good bawl, except for Legolas, who claimed tears would only ruin his stage makeup. Even in the wizards 'death' the elf still kept his priorities in check.  
  
"Can we go to Lothlorien now?" whined Frodo, "I want to be guilt tripped some more about this damn ring, and what will happen if I don't destroy it..."  
  
  
  
Dum de dum dee dum. I'm thinking I should have written this in script format, I'm too lazy to describe their long journeys to various places...please read and review. TTT! I'm going to see it now....hehe. 


	3. The Breaking of the Fellowship

Here we go with yet another installment of my insanity. Frodo has better control of his bowels in this chapter, but expect alot of sexual immorality, and slash (my personal fave). I added alot more description here too, I guess that happens when you get an Edgar Allan Poe book for Xmas..  
  
Lothlorien was by all accounts, even a reluctant Gimli's, beautiful. There were few other words to describe the angelic awe the hidden realm cast over each and every member of the fellowship. Moments of silent worship played over the lips of the travellers, before a rude interuption from the paradise's own citizens broke the mood.  
  
"YO! WASSSSUUUP!?" came the voice of a (probably) stoned elf. Sure enough, a blonde elf, weilding a pipe and bow planted himself before the visitors. "Like, whoa, dudes," he exclaimed, "welcome to Gay Haven! Also known as Lothlorien, and Home of the Slut, Galadriel! Anyone wanna get laid?" the strange elf then moved seductively over to Legolas, and winked.  
  
Being the height of a human crotch, Frodo couldn't help but see the Prince of Mirkwood, harden at the bold elf's advances. His bowels gave an unseemly lurch.  
  
Aragorn stepped forward, and extracted the smoking pipe from the elf's mouth. "Haldir, there is no time. A legion of Orcs pursue us as we speak."  
  
"Well, like dude, they can bring it! I've never laid an Orc before," Haldir giggled, "I won't mind trying, though!"  
  
"I'd rather lay Arwen," grumbled a lovesick Aragorn. "Oh, I shant forget the night we shed our innocence along with our garments on the flower bed, and--"  
  
"--And that will be quite enough, Son of Arathorn, to make us all sick for a week," snorted Legolas, who abolished the thought of heterosexual relationships.  
  
Haldir was either about to flirt with Legolas or continue his sexual banter, but passed out instead. A more sobre looking elf replaced his lead, and directed the travelling companions to their resting place for the night. Their "resting place" as it was so called, was not even the equivalent to a cheap shit motel. They were all shown to a bare rocky patch of moss and then cynically wished a "good night". Gimli, however, found better quarters that night. None had any doubt to the orgin of his disappearance, as the next morning he babbled excessively, praising 'the lady of the wood' and her divine skills. Vala forbid we elaborate too much on that nasty little number.  
  
But not losing ourselves, we take time back to the night, shortly after Frodo was awakened to the sound of both elf and dwarf sexual pleasure. Galadriel had sauntered outside for a smoke, and stumbled upon the awoken hobbit.  
  
"Why Frodo, I've been so busy sharing myself, I forgot all about making you feel like shit for not fixing this whole ring mess," she crooned in an alarmingly low, masculine voice.  
  
"That's okay," said Frodo, "everyone else has been doing a pretty good job about it, for you." He paused, "Oh, and by the by, could I interest you in an evil ring, forged by an evil Lord which will ultimatly bring the downfall of Middle Earth?"  
  
Galadriel wrinkled her nose in thought. "Hmmm, we-ellll, normally you could, but I've discovered recently that dwarves make far better play-toys than rings. You might try pawning it down in Bree, though."  
  
"The thought occured to me, it would fetch a nice few pints."  
  
"Yes, Indeed," Galadriel turned to look in her small cabin. "Darn, that dwarf fell asleep," she cursed. "Frodo, want to do something fun?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Lady, but I promised my winky to Samwise tonight."  
  
"Oh, I understand then. I'll just wake that hairy bastard Gimli up, then."  
  
"Alright, goodnight, lady."  
  
The Fellowship continued their journey the following morning. Gimli had a broad smile plastered over his face and Legolas had an extremely sore ass-- as his spandex had been penetrated by every male immortal that night. A sombre procession of boats containing the travellers poured out of Lothlorien towards the unseen fate; Mordor.  
  
After a long orchestral swell and heart-tugging musical score, the Fellowship docked their boats for a quick lunch of Kraft Cheese and Crackers. (The elves ran out of Lembas Bread..)  
  
Poor Gollum, who had been following them closely on a log, had fallen asleep. A looming waterfall pulled the pitiful creature, wailing over it's waves, to join a thrashing whirlpool at the bottom. "AGGGH! ME PRECIOUS! DAMN TRICKSY FISH-WATER! WE HATES IT FORREEEVVERRRR--AAAHHH!"  
  
"Aragorn," inquired Pippin, "since you killed off Boromir earlier, how are we going to fill up our screen time in a fun and heart-wrenching way?"  
  
"Now, don't you worry your greasy unwashed head about that, little one. The Uruk's have agreed to put in a little overtime."  
  
"Great, but....how?"  
  
Aragorn raised his eyes and listened. Everyone else followed suit. Soon, loud and clear, the Baywatch theme song came lolling into their ears. The Uruk-Hai's had come! Running with incredibly muscular and sweaty chests, the massive beasts ran, bimbo style to 'crash the surf'. Their dirty hair billowed and bounced along their tanned backs, all in time to the music.  
  
"Not bad," commented Merry, "but I liked it when the women ran, more."  
  
"You can't have everything," sighed the ranger, and took a long draw from his pipe.  
  
The muscular Orcs continued to frolic in the waves, until a loud buzzer (like those that signalled pool time is over in the public swimming pools) sounded.  
  
"Oh!" exclaimed Legolas, "time for the big, sweaty fighting scene! Just one second while I fix my hair.."  
  
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli then proceeded to lop off a multitude of heads with seemingly little effort, while the hobbits wailed, scattered and hid like imbeciles.  
  
"Quick, Frodo!" whispered Merry, "come hide with us under this big obvious log!"  
  
"I can't!" whispered Frodo.  
  
"We brought dildos!" tempted Pippin.  
  
"Damn it, I can't! I've gotta run off like a coward and leave you two to get captured!"  
  
"Oh, then...um...shall we provide a decoy?"  
  
"Please," said Frodo.  
  
"Okay, then, um...HEY ORCS! YEAH YOU! NOT YOU, THAT BIG SWEATY PEICE OF MAN-MEAT NEXT TO YOU, YEAH, I'M TALKING TO YOU! COME AND GET IT BIG MAN, YOU KNOW YOU WAAANNNNT ITTTT..." said Merry in his best tantalizing voice.  
  
Frodo ran. He fled half out of utter disturbment and partially for fear. He couldn't wait to drop the blasted ring into Sauron's crack, 'the Cracks of Doom' as they were called. Then that stupid dark lord could bum the ring all he wanted, and Frodo could do the same to Sam. Why did life have to be so complicated?  
  
The ring-bearer had already gotten halfway across the river, when Samwise came running out towards him. "Wait for me, sir! Mr. Frodo! Don't leave without your Sam, your sextoy!" Sam made move to go towards his beloved, and had gotten about half a metre into the cold spring water, when he began to sink abruptly and pointlessly.  
  
"What the heck?" declared Frodo, wondering if perhaps, Sam's immense bulk had caused him to collapse miles into the earth. "I'm coming Samwise!" Frodo thrust a small hand into the water, and, with the help of movie magic and convenient coincidence, caught Sam's hand. Sam pressed out of the water and into the boat.  
  
"Don't you leave him Samwise Gamgee," whimpered Sam, in recollection of Gandalfs early words to him, "and I don't mean to, I don't mean to, I mean, I don't intend to unless a hotter homosexual hobbit comes along.."  
  
"Oh Sam," exclaimed Frodo in his typical overdramatized way, and drew him into a passionate kiss. "Come along then, lets haul ass to Mordor, and shove this damn ring up Sauron's crack!"  
  
"Sounds good to me, sir," sniffed Sam. And so they left, leaving their hobbit friends to captivity and the other three members of the broken Fellowship to forge for themselves.  
  
And that constituted the 'happily ever after' ending for Part I: The Fellowship of the Ring. Thankfully, I was one of the sick fans, obsessed enough to brave the crowds and see The Two Towers on the first day it came out, so you can expect a sequel (inserts yays or groans here) VERY soon! I would like to thank those of you with my equally sick humour for their kind reviews, and yes, in answer to one reveiwers questions, I WILL be continuing this sick parody and Legolas, as you may have now established, is most certainly gay in this series. Once again, thanks all for reading, please reveiw (and flame if you want 


	4. Gandalf Discovers Peroxide

Brief Flashback: We watch Gandalf fall with a flailing Balrog to what we assume is his demise. Merry and Pippin are captured by Baywatch-wannabe Uruk-hai. Boromir is dead. The remaining members of the Fellowship; Aragorn, the rugged lover, Legolas, the gay elf, and Gimli, the short dwarf with a passion for the Lady of the Wood, pursue the Uruks in hopes of retrieving the captive hobbits.  
  
Since I didn't add alot of the stuff from the first movie (I was sure you'd all be sick of FOTR parodies) just keep in mind that Saruman actually does exist, as does Elrond, (Arwens protective sugar-daddy). Once, I haul off my lazy ass, I will insert other comical excerpts pertaining to the first movie in earlier chapters. Okay, now all that crap said and done.....ON WITH THE SHOW!!!!!!  
  
------------------------------  
  
"BACK FLAME OF HOUDIN!" yelled Gandalf for the umpteenth time, as the two hurled through the vast darkness of an unending pit.  
  
"Huh, wha'd you say?" yawned the Balrog.  
  
"I don't know, just adding in random quotes so as not to deviate too far from Tolkien's books.." grumbled the Wizard. "How much longer are we gonna be falling for?"  
  
"As soon as Peter Jackson gets off his coffee break," sighed the Balrog, as the two fell another trillion feet into blackness.  
  
"How are your children, lately?" asked Gandalf politely.  
  
"Oh, pretty well. It's just that Dargo--he's going through those difficult teenage years. What a temper on that boy, why he flames at everything!"  
  
"A common trait in young Balrogs," murmured Gandalf, amused by his companions unintended pun.  
  
"Anyhow, we'd better skip the formalities, the camera crew is back!" hissed the Balrog. "I do hope they have a good trampoline waiting for us.....Oh Valar...they don't, Gandalf---is that an icy ledge!!?"  
  
"AGGGHHHH!"  
  
"AIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!"  
  
THWUMP.  
  
"Unghhh...." groaned the Balrog after the harsh spill. "Stretcher, please."  
  
Gandalf, however, was relativly unharmed, except for the fact in the terror of his fall, every hair on his body had turned white. (A/N: Just don't think it.....just don't think it, that's just wrong..)  
  
Actually, in truth, the old wizard had thought he needed a little extra appeal for the sequel, so he opened a bottle of peroxide. Shhhh, sercret! Oddly enough, Gandalf found himself on a snowy mountain ledge, butt-naked. Thoughts along the line of "why the hell is there snow fifty trillion miles below a Balrogs' lair," and "where the fuck are my clothes?" passed his mind more than once.  
  
"Damn hobbits," murmured Gandalf. "Oh well, at least all that wind resistance made my hair silky straight.."  
  
--------------  
  
Meanwhile, Merry and Pippin were clinging leisurely to the backs of running Uruk-hai.  
  
"Ahh, this is the life," sighed Pippin, "screw the fellowship! they never gave us piggy-back rides! At least these guys give us a break."  
  
"How true," commented Merry, and popped a grape into his mouth. "But we're in for a long break throughout this film anyhow, I don't think we use our legs for more than five minutes in the movie!"  
  
"Good! These damn hobbit feet are hard to work with," muttered Pippin.  
  
The Uruks found what they deemed a good place to rest, a bare feild on the borders of an intimidating forest. Then, proceeding to make their whereabouts entirely obvious, they set to work deteriorating every tree in a fifty mile range. This little act of intelligence was noted by a passing troop of Rohirrim, which then set about to create a suprise attack on the brain-dead band. Saruman really forgot the brain cell formula with this bunch...  
  
The hobbits 'break' as they had seen it, soon took a nasty turn.  
  
"I feel frisky," announced one rather large Uruk-hai. "I think I should very much like to sink my meat into hobbit flesh."  
  
"Nooo, an Orc is more fit for that sort of activity," interjected a puny looking beast. "Let me have the honours."  
  
"Will you all just keep your vienna sausages in their cans!" roared a particuarly moody beserker. (Beserkers are the head Uruks) "Saruman wants them brought to him, UNSPOILED. I can only assume he wishes to extract his own personal pleasure from them beforehand."  
  
The captive hobbits blanched.  
  
"Just once, through the ass," whined one Orc called Grishnahk, "old Sarry will never notice!"  
  
"I should think he WILL notice, with your filthy knocker up his playtoys! Get the hell away from the halflings!"  
  
"But we are hungry for man sex..." whined a group of Orcs.  
  
That apparently, was a mistake on the Orcs behalf, as the last thread of patience in the Uruk captain broke. "Then, damn it, we are hungry for Orc-flesh, you pathetic whiners! URUKS ATTACK!" and thus, the head beserker had given his permission for an orc feast. Screams of battle and terror lit the multitude, (once again making it entirly obvious to their location) as the Uruks sunk tooth into Orc meat.  
  
And out came Eomer and his crew of rugged fighters! By now half their job was done, as it rested in the stomachs of the unsightly Uruks. Orc and Uruk heads flew in an aerial ballet, until the 'Orc feast' was quite forgotten. It was a chance of escape for the hobbits!  
  
Merry and Pippin breached their pathetic bonds and scrambled towards the eerie forest known as Fangorn. But they were not alone. Grishnahk, the horny Orc, pursued. It was a harrowing chase, through a forest of mighty trees the size of sky-scrapers. The small hobbits pushed their limbs to a limit, finally climbing a tree to safety. It would be, that in such a vast forest, that the hobbits would pick such a strategic tree. That 'tree' of course, was an Ent, and yet more than that. This particular Ent was the very founder of Fangorn himself, likewise named, but commonly dubbed 'Treebeard', Lord of the Ents, you might say.  
  
Pippin held a lower branch of the 'tree' for dear life, as Grishnahk tried to pull him down.  
  
"ARROOOOOOOOOHHHH!!!!!" declared the Ent, now awoken from his silent slumber. Pippin, being the idiot he always was, had grabbed a rather sensitive part of the Ent.  
  
"HOOOOM! GERROFFF ME COCK YOU LITTLE ORC!" hollared the ancient tree.  
  
STOMP. So much for Grishnahk and his sexual frustration.  
  
"Oh, dear Vala, I am so sorry Mr. Walking Tree, I did not mean to yank your noodle! Please forgive me!" pleaded Pippin.  
  
Treebeard hoisted the two hobbits onto his shoulders. "Hooom huooom, 'tis all right, little ones. That stiff peice of wood had needed a hand job anyways. Normally, I would have squat the shit of of you, but I think I'll check with the White Wizard first."  
  
"White Wizard!" wailed the hobbits, fearing it was the molestious Saruman.  
  
"Well, if it isn't the two blundering idiots!" came a nearby greeting. Of course, this was unmistakably, and miraculously, especially for the hobbits; Gandalf. 


	5. Eomer gets Lophappy

If I might, I may regret to inform you that of late an evil ailment known as artistic block has befallen me. I am neither sure of when this infirmity will pass nor of the time I shall feel my newest chapters do not suck glutimus maximus. Please bare with me through this ill moods, until once again, perversion and chaos may reign the fanfics..  
  
Jan 11 Had a nasty little deletion of my newest chapter. It all came out well, as the original chapter lacked in hilarity and properly conjucated verbs. Artistic block passed and now I have rewritten an amzing sequel to the FOTR. After watching TTT twice now and reading the script, I present you now with my sick renditon, to which I entitle; Eomer Gets Lop-Happy  
  
  
  
Two wary hobbits and one freak of nature began a tiresome trek across the Dead Marshes, as the redundant mass of bog was named. It was a unforgiving path; cold, wet and inset in a vile aura of death. Through the murky waters of the marshes, pale dead faces stared out with vacant eyes, to snare those that might watch the lights, into joining them in their water tombs.  
  
It was Frodo, of course, who fell ill to this trap. As always, Frodo was prone to screwing everything up with minute, unintentional effort, and had nearly suceeded in doing so again.  
  
An eerie, but strangly handsome man watched the ringbearer from beneath the waters. And Frodo, prone to admiring masculine figures, found himself enchanted at this beautiful corpse. The hobbit had never considared necrophilia (A/N: Is that how you spell it?) but this exquisite man tempted him beyond normal feeling. A groan escaped the hobbits lips and he let himself fall towards the beauty.  
  
SPLASH!  
  
Mistake. Below the waters, there was no man. Apparations of long dead ghouls extended decaying hands to the hobbit, pawing, and prying, attempting to draw him deeper to their evil purpose.  
  
Gollum watched in mute terror, as his master fell into the depths. Scraping his way across the dank distance between them, the creature came to the pool before a overdramatizing Sam could. Gollum pulled the flailing hobbit from the waters.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, Mr. Frodo! Are you alright!?" asked Sam.  
  
"GOOD LORD SAM," bellowed Frodo, "every frickkin time something awful happens you feed me the same line! I don't know whats more annoying, you or all this damn shit I keep getting into!"  
  
All in a sudden, a vast, swooping shape blocked the greying sky. A large winged beast, harnessed by a rider in black. The massive wings of the flying thing pushed incredible masses of air below and above it, A high, whooping redneck call broke the silence of the bog;  
  
"GIT ALOOOONNG LIL' DOGIES, FIND ME MASTERS RING SNIFF OUT BAGGINS' STOGIES AND FIND THAT BASTARD THING.."  
  
"Whoa!" declared Frodo, "that's a nazgul! And by the sound of it, his vocabulary has increased! It's about time too, that school-girl squeal was giving me migraines! I think I'll go congratulate him!"  
  
"Mr. Frodo, he'll get the ring! And, and, and...we'll all be doomed!" stuttured Samwise.  
  
"Hey!" barked Gollum, "it was my turn to say the 'doom' line!" Gollum at once began to writhe and paw, and push his peepers at abnormal sizes past his eye-sockets. He flailed about the ground and moaned about 'the precious'.  
  
"This is no time to have an orgasm!" snapped Sam.  
  
Frodo put his thumb out, in guesture for a ride. The nazgul pulled his dragon to a stop.  
  
"Why, 'allo thar, me little feller! How y'all doin'!"  
  
"Ah, pretty good." said Frodo, "listen, you're the dude that impaled me on Weathertop, remember?"  
  
"Oh, yeah! Like I totally forgot about that!" the black rider slapped his forehead. "That reminds me, I still need that damn ring!"  
  
"Well, I can't really give it to you, as I want to get out of the story all hero-like. But, can I interest you in an alumninum washer, forged in the backroom of Brandybuck Laundry Mat?" Frodo presented the nazgul with a dingy washer, a mighty far stretch in comparing to the ring of power, but it was an idea.  
  
"Hmmm, do you think Sauron will fall for it?"  
  
"He will if..." Frodo took out a nail, "we write the inscription on it. Do you remember it?"  
  
"Um....uh-oh, I failed the Lore of the Ring midterm, I can't remember....was it;  
  
One sheet to cover them all One washer to wash them One screw is hard to undo So think before you knock 'em?"  
  
"Erm...nooo. If I recall that was the motto for a Chastity group that visited our high-school."  
  
"Damn, so it was."  
  
"I remember it!" declared Sam, "after all, I was eavesdropping on you and Gandalf the night you discovered the ring was evil and h'all.  
  
One ring to rule them all One ring to find them One ring to bring them all And in the darkness bind them.  
  
"Good enough," muttered Frodo, and continued to scratch the message onto the washer ring. When he was done, he handed the 'ring' proudly to the nazgul. "Here ya go, feller. And good luck with ending the world and all!"  
  
"And good luck with saving it!" replied the departing rider, neither of them considaring the contradictory farewells they had given.  
  
There was one less black rider, when Sauron received his 'ring'.  
  
Now let our thoughts travel to Rohan, a pathetic little kingdom with the social standing of a present day trailor park. As insult to injury, or laughter in hilarity, they had a king. This king might as well have been a beer drinking constituent of a gravel pit, as he was about as coherent. This king was Theoden, lord of Rohan, and sadly, a passive slave to his scheming servant; Grima Wormtongue. Grima had long spiked his Kings orange juice with potent nectars to keep pink elephants and flying ponies travelling past Theodens' mind.  
  
It was a dreary day the kings nephew, Eomer, came riding back with the renowned Rohirrim bearing a sorrowful burden. In his cousins arms, Theodred, the lone heir to the throne of Rohan, lay. Near point of death, there was little or nothing that could be done in effect to spare his life.  
  
Eomer was mighty pissed with this tragic passing of events, and made no effort to hide it. As an expression of his displeasure, he lopped off a few random heads and trampled a number of children beneath his horse.  
  
"Why'd you do that, m'leige?" questioned one of his fighters, fearfully.  
  
"Gee! Respect for life, dumbarse?" spat Eomer, "I'm sick of carrying this dying lump about!" and he lopped off the soliders head. Needless to say, no one asked any more questions.  
  
The Kings nephew looked about impatiently. Where was his sister, Eowyn? "GET OUT HERE WENCH!" he roared.  
  
Out came his fair-haired sister, Eowyn. She took a single glance at the wound left by an Orc blade upon her cousin, and knew he would not pass the night. "OH BOAH HOO HOOO HOOO!" she wailed. "Who did it, brother?!"  
  
"He ate my last package of Oreos, and Vala knows they are the only half- decent thing in those ration packs!" justified Eomer. "Now I must see our uncle! There are Orcs about!"  
  
Theodred didn't acknowledge his nephews return. Under the watchful stare of Grima, he listened to Eomers relation of the Orc attacks in surrounding areas.  
  
"So we must get out there are get lopping! These new orcs are some breed contrived by Saruman, and must be countered at once with sword to head!" emphasized Eomer.  
  
Grima, who always spoke for the aged king, disagreed. "Saruman has long been our friend and ally! You speak of lies you war-monger! And besides, your random head-lopping has already deprived us of what army we might have had to defend our home!"  
  
While Grimas face was hard enough to take, his voice sent individual needles through Eomers head. "You stupid worm! They are definatly Sarumans handi-work! Look!" Eomer cast the severed head of an Uruk before him, bearing the insignia of the white wizard on the nape of it's neck. Words in Comic Sans MS text read; Made with love in Build-An-Orc TM by Saruman. (An advanced rendering of those personalized computer card programs.)  
  
"What ever happened to good old branding?" sighed Wormtongue. His boss really stepped into it this time. "Eomer, you really have too much intellect for such a moron.."  
  
Eomer went to reach for his sword, in all intention of lopping Grimas head, "How long has it been since Saruman bought you, fiend! What was the promised pay? Me?"  
  
Grimas eyes involentarily swerved to a departing Eowyn. Yes, long had he desired that woman, despite all her over-dramatic weeping. She would warm a nice bed, and all else was really irrelevant.  
  
"Too long have you watched my sister!" roared Eomer. Before he could execute a perfect lop, Grimas weasly guards had taken hold of him.  
  
"I banish you for this outrage, Eomer, son of Eomund, on pain of eating my homemade seafood salad!"  
  
It was no idle threat. Everyone in Rohan knew the potency of Grimas culinary work. Death was a vacation in comparison to the ingestion of Seafood 'a la Grima! On that note, Eomer had no desire to return.  
  
Later that evening, Grima had designated for what he assumed would be 'the seduction of Eowyn'. He was ready, he decided, as he had spent many a day indulging in How To Get With A Chick FOR DUMMIES. He had some great new lines he was itching to relate to his would-be love.  
  
Eowyn was beside the bed of her now departed cousin, Theodred. She was crying at a decibal level of a Metallica mosh pit, lamenting his death. Grima flinched at the unholy noise, it almost made him regret all those times he'd kept that bloodthirty blowhard, Eomer, from lopping her head.  
  
"Oh....he's dead." said Grima with mucho restrained sympathy. "I take it the pills I gave him were to no effect?" He tactfully omitted the fact the 'pills' that had been passed for 'Tylenol' were really arsenic.  
  
"OH BOO HOO HOAAHHOHH HOOOO..." warbled Eowyn in response.  
  
"Ai....." groaned Wormtongue. He unplugged his ears long enough to spill his eloquent pick-up lines. "Eowyn, fair darling.." he began.  
  
"WAAAAHHH, w-what, Gr-gr-G-rima?" she sobbed.  
  
Instantly, Grima feigned a seizure and flopped to the floor. Had it been a game of charades, Eowyn would have yelled 'dying fish!' "Aggh!" he yelled.  
  
"Oh Grima! What's happened!?"  
  
"Call an ambulance baby! Cus you just stole my heart!"  
  
Even though she was blonde to the core, Eowyn had her dignities. That was the single most worst line she had ever received. It was so bad, that the previous mornings delicacies made a comeback. "BLAUGGGGHHHHHH!" she spewed foul barf all over her potential lover. "I'm sorry Grima," she apologized, wiping her mouth of the vomit, "but that is all I will ever have within me for you!"  
  
  
  
"Eeeny, meeny, miney, moe....old--black--joe--says--this--is--the--way--to-- go!" Aragorn put his stupendous rangers skills to work, to track the insidiuos Uruks that had captured their two friends Merry and Pippin. "Alright! This way!" the ranger directed his two friends, Legolas and Gimli.  
  
Legolas took off at once, all in effort to show his amazing legs in his new spandex. "Come on Gimli!" he called back to the dwarf for the nine millionth time that day.  
  
"Dwarves are wasted on cross-country!" grumbled the slow Gimli, while pumping his short legs with all the strength he could muster.  
  
The three companions had travelled awhile when they stopped to make sure they were on the proper track.  
  
"Legolas," said Aragorn, "what do your elf eyes see?"  
  
Legolas climbed on top of a rock to get a good view. It was hardly needed as an obvious cloud of dust had risen sky-high from the Uruks rampage. "The Orcs have turned east," announced the elf. "Boy, it's a fortunate thing you have me along, else you might never have seen that!"  
  
Aragorn sniffed the air. "Well, melannin, a mere ranger can tell you that is no rising dust. Our orcish friends are taking a narcotics break." He inhaled deeply, "hmmm, that's actually some half-good shit! And it'll buy us some time too! Quickly everyone!"  
  
"Haha, dumb elf!" laughed Gimli.  
  
Legolas took off at superman speed once again. "Come on Gimli!" he mocked. "Don't slow us down!"  
  
The smoking kingsfoil had not only attracted Aragorns attention, but the attention of a passing group of Rohirrim. A group containing our previously met hero, Eomer.  
  
As it turned out, the Orcs were actually smoking fir trees. They had discovered the unnatural joy of tree weed and were revelling in it's full pleasure.  
  
**insert excerpt from previous draft*  
  
Still a little hazy from the excessive drug-smoke of the Uruks, the Rohirrim did not notice three very obvious standing figures. Aragorn had to jump in front of a horse and risk severe trampling to gain their attention. "Hey! YO WASSUP MY HOMIES!?" he bellowed.  
  
In moments, the three travellers were encircled by a group of sullen looking men, all with spears pointed towards them. The leader, Eomer, came forward. Too tired to lop any heads, he merely resorted to being rude. "What the hell do you want?" he demanded impatiently.  
  
"Uh, whats on the go..I mean, what news of the mark?" replied the ranger.  
  
"Oh, Theodred kicked the bucket, Theodens on an acid trip, and a weasel named Wormtongue dictates the lives of our trailer park kingdom. Not to mention, we just slaughtered a pack of Uruk-hai and Orcs a mile back. It was freaky, they were all wacked, and dancing in pink bunny slippers--argh, damn, that shit really got to me. Now why the heck are you three here? Rather suspicious lot! One elf, a dwarf and an unwashed wigger. Hmmm, very interesting. Mind if I lop your heads?"  
  
"We'rrrrre in no mood, faggot!" roared Gimli.  
  
"I'd lop yours now, but it's no higher than my bag!" retorted Eomer.  
  
"Touch my friend and you will have no bag!" snapped Legolas. Hmmm, possible love interest?  
  
"Shut-up you raving homosexuals," groaned Aragorn. "Listen, Eomer. I am Aragorn son of...er...some important dude, this is Legolas, Prince of Whats- his-fuck in Mirkwood, and this is Gimli, heir of Gloin, heh, heh that sounds like "hair of groin!"" snickered Aragorn.  
  
Gimli was not amused. He was hairy as it was, and wanted no attention drawn to certain unmentionables.  
  
"Anyways, dude, did you kill two hobbits along with the Uruks? It's a pretty tempting thing to do, so don't be ashamed in admitting it....though we would like to find them," finished Aragorn.  
  
"What the sweet fuck...? 'Hobbits'?" Eomer clearly had no clue.  
  
"Uh, they would be small, only children in your eyes. They were captured by the Orcs days back."  
  
Eomer shook his head. "Well, I saw no Habits, or Hobbits, whatever the hell you call them. Everything we killed was damn ugly and that's all I know. Here have a brace of horses for your troubles. Their riders were annoying, and deserved the lopping I gave them. I just hope you don't deserve the lopping I didn't give you!" With that the banished fighter left, all his men behind him.  
  
"Killed everrrrrrrrrything damn ugly? Noooooo!" wailed Gimli, "they arrrrrrrrrre dead! Dead!"  
  
Legolas bowed his head in sadness. Aragorn threw a tantrum. Their two friends were dead. Nonetheless, the elven brooches and short swords worn by the hobbits would fetch a nice price at the local pawn shop, so off they headed towards the smoking corpses of the Orc slaughter.  
  
Once there, the companions were met with disappointment. There were no elven brooches or swords amongst the smoking pile.  
  
"You don't suppose Eomer took them for his own?" mused Legolas.  
  
"No...." said Aragorn very slowly. "As a matter of fact, I don't think he even saw them...Look." The ranger pointed to a particular area in the ground. "A hobbit slept here!"  
  
"How do you know that, Arrragorrrn?" asked Gimli.  
  
"Nasals snore tabs," replied the ranger, "Pippin was notorious for his snoring, and also there's a night cap......and look! He crawled over here, hands bound, found an axe and cut his bonds!" He lifted a severed rope.  
  
"Well....!" exclaimed Legolas.  
  
"Now over here!" said Aragorn, rising in excitement with each passing minute, "He was nearly trampled by a horse!"  
  
"Now how do you gatherrrr that?" questioned Gimli.  
  
"Easy," answered Aragorn, "there are very deep hoof prints here and a pile of crap. The trauma of almost being flattened caused him to shit himself!"  
  
"You are simply amazing, Sherlock!" complimented Legolas, with fluttering eyelids.  
  
"Junior High, dear Watson."  
  
"That's 'elementarrry', Aragorrrrn.." corrected Gimli.  
  
"Whatever. Now, observe this. A hobbit shuffled over here and cut another hobbits bonds. More rope! And now, they both ran straight into Fangorn forest!"  
  
"Fangorrrrn!" rolled Gimli. "What madness drrrove them therrrre?"  
  
"What do you think dumarse? They were escaping Orcs and head-lopping maniacs!"  
  
"Oh. Rrrright."  
  
"Do we have to go in there?" whined Legolas, "those brambles look like they might nick my new slacks.."  
  
"Well then, think of all the men that will see your sexy legs!" declared Aragorn in a pathetic attempt to sway the elf's complaint. It worked, as Legolas was a blonde. (A/N: No offense to you blondies, your hair is beautiful and by no way a hinderance to your intellect!)  
  
The three searched throughout the woodland of Fangorn. Well they 'kind of' searched. Aragorn found a new patch of daisies in which to continue his "she loves me, she loves me lots," activity. Gimli found an unfortunate Ent in which to bore with ramblings of Moria, and Legolas sat around gossiping with the trees. In mid-expose of a juicy tidbit, the trees interupted Legolas to inform him that the "White Wizard" was coming.  
  
"How rude!" pouted the elf.  
  
"What, Legolas?" asked Aragorn.  
  
"The trees cut off my paraphrase of last weeks Days of Our Lives to tell me some damn White Wizard was coming!" he answered broodily.  
  
"White Wizard!" declared the ranger. "Quick to your swords! Do not listen to his words, he will bewitch you!"  
  
"Any man can bewitch me," winked Legolas at the man.  
  
"Legolas, please, how many times to I have to tell you, I'm NOT gay! I'm with Arwen, alright?!"  
  
"You arrrre always welcome to join a thrrrreesome with me and Galadrrrriel, frrriend," comforted Gimli.  
  
They were taken by suprise, as the 'White Wizard' stepped into the clearing, blinding them all with an angelic white light.  
  
"Are you Monica from Touched by an Angel?" asked Legolas, "I like, soooo love that show! I watch it every sunday and the reruns on thursday!"  
  
"Man, downgrade to some forty-watt bulbs!" Aragorn sheilded himself from the light, "It's hard on the cataracts!"  
  
"You wouldn't know anything about Morrrria, would you?"  
  
The White Wizard sighed and stepped out of the brilliant lumeniscence. "I should have known better than to expect a hero's welcome from you lot!"  
  
All three were astonished to discover the White Wizard was their old home- boy Gandalf the Grey! They had completely forgotten he meant to return after slipping off the bridge of Khazad-dum. Gimli and Legolas bowed in reverance, (though they were not sure why, afterwords).  
  
"How the heck did you......????!!!!" asked Aragorn, who considared himself too much of a handsome, rugged dude to bow to a decrepit old man.  
  
"--Escape the Balrog?" offered Gandalf.  
  
"Nooo, get white hair?" said Aragorn.  
  
"Oh, that. I picked up some "Just for Wizards" at the local 7-11. Sexy, huh? Anyways, I've come to save all you pathetic people out of a huge mess. Don't worry about Merry and Pippin. I disemboweled them for alerting the Orcs in Khazad-dum."  
  
There was a very awkward silence.  
  
"HA HA HA HA!" laughed Gandalf, "April fools! Had you there for a second! I merely beat them within an inch of their lives. They are currently now safely with Treebeard the Ent, marching to an Entmoot."  
  
"Ahhhh, that's great. Heh heh. Funny joke..." wheezed Aragorn.  
  
"Well now, get those two idiots to stop bowing, and we'll go save the world!" delcared Gandalf.  
  
Gimli had fallen asleep while bowing, and Legolas had taken the time to get intimate with mother nature--a rabbit burrow to be exact.  
  
As the four friends came to the clearing, Gandalf took note of their Rohirrim steeds. "I see you have horses! Great! Well I don't just have a horse, I have the KING of horses. So HAH!and nyah nyah nah boo boo!" Gandalf stuck his tongue out at them in a childish manner.  
  
So proceeded another reunition, all in convient time frame. And four of the original fellowship members rode into the sunset with all intention of saving the day--and many others to come. 


End file.
